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Sunday, April 30, 2006
From top: Lady Sovereign, My Morning Jacket, Sigur Ros, Daft Punk. Photos (c) Jeff Miller.
Coachella Music Festival 2006, Day One
April 29 at Empire Polo Field, Indio, CA
Each year, my favorite moment at the Coachella Music festival -- California’s hipster convention, now 60,000 strong in its seventh year -- is always at same. As the sun goes down on the festival’s first day, the desert air turns a glowing red. Dust hits the atmosphere at the same time as nerves, excitement, and the weather cool, and a band -- usually a band that walks the line between rock and atmosphere, a band that knows the true meaning of the word ambient -- provides the soundtrack for the festival’s magic hour, the moment when the new-band discovery of the daytime (this year: Lady Sovereign! Rad! Nine Black Alps! Not so much!) turns into headliner-status groups like Depeche Mode and the kids lose focus on the music, instead finding out that the ability to light spliffs without an interruption from security goes way up as the sun goes down.
This year, it was Sigur Ros who were placed in the 7-7:55 slot, blasting atmospheric Hopleandic cool to an audience that started out lackluster and became more and more wrapped up in the band’s intensity. Though some Bro-types didn’t quite get it (note to the guys breakdancing during one of the band’s violin-string-breaking-wails: we know you don’t like this band. Go watch Carl Cox in the dance tent, dick), dyed-haired couples held each other and slow-danced like depressed prom dates, wispy and wimpy and oh-so cute, all at the same time.
Elsewhere on the field, My Morning Jacket had the unenviable task of being scheduled against last-minute-addition Kanye West; unsurprisingly, the pride of Louisiana throttled the shit out of Kanye, who repeated the "this is the only time white people can say nigger" schtick he’s been throwing out before "Golddigger" all year while Jim James let his hair fly in his eyes during the Clash-on-acid "Off The Record" and its super-extended, beyond-rowdy solo. Daft Punk played their first US show in nearly a decade, clad head-to-toe in robot suits sitting atop a pyramid lifted straight from the dollar bill (if George's backside came with fancy laser lights). Franz Ferdinand proved that poppy dancepunk works way better in front of 60,000 people than it does in front of 6,000, and Chan Marshall didn’t go crazy onstage, which was simultaneously a relief and, frankly, a disappointment.
But mostly what happened at the first day of this year’s Coachella was proof that the festival’s anything-goes aesthetic is still intact, an attribute that will be tested by the addition of Madonna to today’s bill. Will she play “Like A Virgin?” My guess is no. But I’ll be sure to let you know.
-- Jeff Miller
Photos (c) Daisy Romero
Black Eyed Peas, with the Pussycat Dolls
April 29 at Agganis Arena
No more shabby Carson Daly green rooms and opening slots for ex-boy-banders. Black Eyed Peas are finally headliners, dammit: bring these people the biggest sign onstage, the freshest Pellegrino backstage, and the right to pee their pants wherever and whenever they want. Last night at BU’s Agganis Arena, Fergie didn’t get the urge. But she committed an even bigger diva foul: attempting to scat. Yes, kids, there are limits to what your ego can force your limited talent to accomplish, and this was a shining example. It was also the least memorable moment in a three-hour extravaganza of the type that only the biggest hip-pop tour of the moment can provide: pop and lock showcases, humping a monkey puppet, and everyone's guiltiest strip-hop pleasure, the Pussycat Dolls.
As soon as the Dolls gyrated onto the stage -- there were just six of them, but it seemed like an army of skimp -- the crowd blew up. Their singing? Overrated, even at budget prices. However: their abs? Ohmigod. If you can get your hair that big and your ass to shake that fast, honey, you deserve every penny. Put the PCDs together and they make up the hottest girl I know, with lead singer Nicole providing a little vocal talent behind the T&A. "I love every one of their songs!" says my friend Swati, not taking her eyes off the stage. "But they only have two?" I say. "Uh huh," she nods.
Fergie, having once been a PCD herself, knows just how far she's come from doing the cabaret-in-a-bikini-top schtick her opening gals are stuck with. You know you've made it when you can take the stage fully clothed -- in a hot peach polyester jumpsuit with your name down one leg, no less! Sure, she still breaks a sweat, does the splits, and lets loose a vestigal ass-shake between "Let's Get Retarded"s. But she also echoes a deep, sultry confidence she's earned by turning a marginal alternative rap group into humongous top 40 stars. I mean, she's earned some respect, right? "Does she really pee her pants on purpose?" a concerned mom next to me asks. "I don't want my daughter to see that." You never know, ma. "They won't show it on the screen, will they?"
Atop the Agannis stage, and below a gigantic blinking orange BLACK EYED PEAS sign, the other peas in the pod fight for their cut of your attention. Will I Am, with his dashing Girl From Ipanema vibe (actually, he is about to drop an album with Sergio Mendes) takes the lead, narrating the beats. The man appears to have detachable limbs. Amazing. Taboo and Apl.De.Ap break up the flow with breakdancing moves that are so cool you almost forgive them for having names that look like morse code. Then they Voltronize in funky arm-in-arm numbers that couldn't be more entertaining if they were actually improvised instead of overly choreographed. But elephunk's changed a lot, kiddos.
Speaking of which, the biggest change in BEP shows was sitting right next to me -- in fact they were in about half the seats at Agganis. There's nothing more ironic than watching a hockey-rinkfull of 13-year-olds shake pancake-flat asses and two-inch hips while singing along with "My Humps." I guess the bigger and flashier your national tours get, the younger your audience. (Not like yer college girl here will ever mind shaking humps when BEPs are in town.) But what's next? How about a Cirque du Soleil-produced world tour where Fergie defecates into the microphone for nine year olds, featuring a sign that takes up the entire first five rows? Bigger and better and onwards and upwards.
-- Julia Dennis
New England Metal and Hardcore Festival, Day 2 April 29 at the Palladium, Worcester Words and photos by Carina Mastrocola
While Friday brought the metal, Day 2 leaned more towards hardcore and had a larger crowd than the previous night: think more moshing and less drinking. Highlights not pictured below: Embrace the End, with dual singers who didn't cease moving, jumping, and screaming. God Forbid: if the number of people singing along to every song was any indication, the new album is being well received. Montreal's Ion Dissonance, who had the club going crazy with songs that're like a non-stop beatdown that changes every two seconds. Immolation, who had the entire front of the barricade filled with legions of necksnapping metalheads. Into the Moat, who played a tight set with a few long and absolutely quiet breaks between songs. Hate Eternal: horns and headbanging was all you saw the crowd giving; their new drummer Kevin Talley is a great fit for them. And Suffocation, whom the soundman tried to cut off jsut as Frank was saying "One more," but after a moment of confusion they decided to play a final song anyway.
Arch Enemy: Yes, yet another European, female-fronted metal band headlined for the second day straight!
Exodus: the crowd lost it for these kings of thrash!
On Broken Wings: wow, their newer music sounds a lot more deathmetal and less hardcore.
Overcast: yes, a reunion show featuring Shadows Fall's Bryan Fair and his infamous dreds.
Scars of Tomorrow: sounded good even though I didn't recognize the band members.
Since the Flood: they bounced all over the stage and I had the opportunity of catching Dave in midair. I can't wait to hear their new CD, their first record with Metal Blade.
Skinless: new frontman Jason got the crowd to step back from the barricade and then charge towards the stage in a tsunami of destruction.
Terror: their singer jumped into the crowd for all the key parts of their popular songs to let the crowd sing along with him.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
(OTD is stuck at a podcasting conference this weekend (you can watch it live on the internerd), but ace photographer Carina Mastrocola is at the world-class New England Metal and Hardcore Festival, where last night goateed dudes played thrash covers of "Beat It," Italian girls killed it, and a few dudes who weren't on the schedule stopped by. We're uploading her dispatches as fast as we can between presentations, more coming soon.)
New England Metal and Hardcore Festival
April 28 at the Palladium, Worcester
Haste the Day: They have a new singer, but that job seems kind of moot since everyone else in the band also sings, so all he did was the screams.
Demiricous: These thrashy Swedish-influenced metal boys -- from the Midwest -- are one of my favorite bands of the night!
The Red Chord: Our local boys made a surprise, impromptu performance that lasted three songs. Guy jumped up on the barricade to sing with the crowd for the entire time. Tight!
Arsis: They started out by playing a metal version of Michael Jackson's "Beat It," what else can I say?
Dead To Fall: How many times did the singer jump into the crowd? I forget, but it was crazy and the fans ate it up.
The Absence: My first time seeing these guys and you can definitely hear the Swedish influence. they came out really strong and left me quite impressed.
Lacuna Coil:Technically the female fronted Italian metal band were the headliners. Unfortunately, at this time of the night, a lot of people were drunk in the streets, so the crowd was nothing like when they played the Palladium two weeks ago to a sold-out crowd.
All images (c) Carina Mastrocola
Click below for more images of:
Black Dahlia Murder, who came out in fluorescent cut-off tops and white pants.
A Life Once Lost: It's always a treat to watch the singer that spazzes out continuously, jumping around and falling on his head over and over. Even when he jumped right in front of me and pretended to jack off wearing the same shorts that he always wears, I laughed.
Scarlet: The new singer was like an acrobat, doing all sorts of back flips, he didn't stop moving for a second, he was all screams and jumps.
Friday, April 28, 2006
The most ridiculous weekend ever. How ridiculous?
 WHAT: R. Kelly "Trapped in the Closet" sing-a-long.
WHAT?!: "Maybe you've even seen them on DVD in a room with friends. But you haven't fully experienced them until you've rapped along with R. Kelly in a theater full of hundreds of friends and a bevy of props hidden around the room. We'll screen all 12 chapters with bouncing-ball sing-a-long lyrics, a bevy of other classic R. Kelly videos (everyone ready for the Bump N’ Grind?), a special on-screen "interview" with the man himself, an amazing 10 year old kiddie remake of the first chapter of Trapped, and more! By the end of the show, Sylvester won't be the only one who'll scream out, "Oh my god, a rubber!"
OH, LORD! WHEN? HOW?: Friday, midnight (as in, late Friday night) at the Coolidge Corner Theater
OMG-O-METER: 8.9/10
 WHAT: DJ Tommy Lee
WHAT?!: Yes, that Tommy Lee. The one with the huge cock and the wife-smacking problem. Playing records. On the turntable. Apparently he did this at the Winter Music Conference in Miami. "I walked past the room a few times," confides one person who was there. "Worst. Crowd. Ever. Just DISGUSTING."
OH, LORD! WHEN? HOW? Saturday, 10:30-ish, at Avalon [tix here]
OMG-O-METER: 7.8/10
WHAT: Lean: Allston's only dance night dedicated solely to the Derrty Derrrty
WHAT?!: Honeypump board co-signs purple drank, getting thowed, grillz, etc., courtesy of DJ Shiny Knuckles and DJ Lone Wolf
OH, LORD! WHEN? HOW? Sunday at Reel Bar
OMG-O-METER: 7.1/10
 WHAT: Spank Rock, Max Certified Bananas, DJ Makko
WHAT?!: Ya herd. Bodymore murderland via Illadelph hip(ster)-hop pawrty music event of the spring. Perhaps you caught them wrecking the Paradise at the M.I.A. show. Perhaps you don't want to miss this again.
OH, LORD! WHEN? HOW?: Sunday at the Middle East Upstairs
OMG-O-METER: 8.7/10
Choose as many or as few as you like. But no matter what you choose, this will probably come in handy:
WATCH: "How to Snap": Jazzy Pha's girlgroop Cherish teaches you to do the Snap dance [Windows] [Real] [QuickTime]
All photos (c) K. Bonami. From top: Taco Bolt; Damon & Naomi; Ghost; terrastockists in the wild; Paik; Lightning Bolt; terrastockists; Lightning Bolt; the Spacious Mind.
Our most dedicated Lightning Bolt fan, the international woman of mystery K. Bonami, journeyed to the lost land of Terrastock, refusing all transportation except rail car, bicycle, and hang glider. Which perhaps explains why she didn't arrive in Providence until last Saturday around 8, and also perhaps why she only just the other day emerged, blinking and picking branches twixt her kneepits, from beneath the Fenway commuter rail station. She managed to smuggle back psychedelic photos out the wazoo, some of which we've excerpted above, and a couple of rare video clips, which we finally managed to get posted below. To wit:
Lightning Bolt, Live at Terrastock 2006
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Furvis: "No, let me give you head!"
Message to Campaign for Real Time: spend your Rumble winnings wisely. In other words, make like Furvis, who made it to the Rumble finals in '05 on a platform of strict Pavement impersonation, underwent one of the more dramatic makeovers in recent local-rock history, and here unveil a slab of Stones-y, whiskey-pickled cawntry-rock, recorded by Gentleman Ed V. and David Minnehan on the group’s Rumble-winnings dime. A preview of an as-yet-untitled album that’ll materialize in the fall, this showed up in our inbox straight from Q Division, where the boys are still hard at work. They'll take a break to show off some of the new isht Saturday at T.T. the Bear's Place. [Details here.]
DOWNLOAD: Furvis, "Soldier Blue" (mp3)
No fucking idea how this ended up at the Paradise Lounge, it's like deciding to hold the olympics at your high school gym. We're guessing club bookers have no name recognition when it comes to the world's greatest party-DJ entertainers? Still, even if the "5-time turntable champion" entry didn't sink in, you'd think someone would have noticed the "Kanye West's DJ" line on A-Trak's resume. Our dude David Day sat down with Alain Macklovitch to talk DVD shit and whatnot. But what's probably most ridiculous is that people haven't been camping out for weeks to throw down with the Rub and France's most sensitive thugs, Cuizi Cuiz & Orgasmic from TTC. Don't let the sensitive part fool you: les Bastards Sensibles are not to be fucked with, and neither are the Rub, as some people at SXSW found out (click here to view crazy handicam video of TTC/The Rub fighting people). And in case you missed it, here's what happened the last time the Rub were in town.
DOWNLOAD: Bonde Do Role, "Melo do Tobaco (A-Trak Remix)" (mp3)
WATCH: the trailer for A-Trak's Sunglasses Is a Must (video)
DOWNLOAD: TTC, Danse le Club (mp3, via Call Me Mickey)
DOWNLOAD: It's the Rub 7 (mp3 via MySpace)
DOWNLOAD: Hooray for Earth, "Simple Plan" (mp3)
The band formerly known as Raymond makes a huge leap forward: new name, dirty-as-shit guitars, bubbletechno synths, and anthemic moping. Quite possibly the missing link between Magnetic Fields and Andrew W.K., though left to their own devices, they call it something completely different: "Blur, Nirvana, and Enya breaking things at a video arcade in hell." Coming sometime this year: a self-titled album recorded with engineer Brian Brown (Juliana Hatfield, Pilot to Gunner). Fresh off a SXSW showcase and a three-week tour with Porsches on the Autobahn and the Unbusted, they're playing the WFNX New England Product/ThePhoenix.com party on Friday (read: tomorrow) at Bill's Bar. [More details] Sarah Tomlinson ran into the bass player, and the following exchange ensued:
Q: Does your album have a name yet?
A: It is self titled. Since we changed our name from Raymond to HFE this year, we figured it made sense. Ya know, start fresh, and at the same time beat the new name into people's heads.
Q: Where did you record it?
A: all over. Honestly it was mostly done by Noel (our singer/songwriter) in our practice space. But to list the proper studios that were used: Tracking was done at The Moontower in Cambridge, Briggs Bros. Studios in Framingham, and Witch Doctor studio in Salem, MA. I think Witch Doctor is now defunct. Mixing was split between the Windham in Bellows Falls Vt. (this is the new incarnation of what was Ft. Apache) and then Attercop Sound in Seattle, WA. We worked with local engineer/producer Brian Brown. Noel produced the record and Brian co-produced. Brian also mixed the record. Brian has done a bunch of local and national artists. You can find him on allmusic.com. Also, I think his discography page is in our top 8.
Q: Are you shopping it?
A: The plan is to shop it while we release it on our own locally and drum up a BUZZ or whatever.
Q: Are the songs from your Myspace page on the album?
A: Yes
Q: Do you have any fun surprises planned for the Bill's Bar show -- cover songs? fireworks? jello shots?
A: We plan to smash faces... or something. And maybe after we can all do jello shots together.
When I met Don Lennon three years ago, he sat across a table from me for nearly an hour and hardly cracked a smile. Perusing the few press photos that exist of the guy, one would be forgiven for wondering whether he’s ever smiled at all. Which is why it’s amusing that Routine (Martin Philip), the fourth solo album from the erstwhile Bostonian — you may remember him from The Umpteens, but probably don’t — is so preoccupied with comedy. Lennon is no stranger to themed records. His first, Maniac (1997) was more or less about college. His second, Don Lennon (1999) was more or less about himself. His third, Downtown (2002), with its pokes at Dave Matthews Band and Lenny Kravitz, and its paeans to Bongwater and John Cale, was a sly musical/pop-cultural critique.
But comedy? One fears that, were Don to unleash an uproarious belly laugh, his stony visage might crack and fall off. But if there’s such of thing as the opposite of a clown crying on the inside, Don Lennon is it. He keeps a straight face while delivering lines like: "If you have to do a pratfall / If you have to use a prop / A lot of comics think that’s cheating / That’s why they all hate Carrot Top." Local producer Pete Weiss has called Lennon’s oeuvre "double reverse ironic with a twist," and indeed it’s sometimes hard to decipher just what the guy is getting at in these breezy, gently anthemic pop gems. He may be singing about prop comedy and sketch shows and slapstick on "My Routine" and "What SNL Stands For" and "Last Comic Standing" (this latter a meditation on the life and legacy of John Ritter), but if this guy's being funny, he’s meta on Kaufman-esque level. (Andy and Charlie.) And if that wasn’t enough, Routine has a subplot about trying to find a job. "My Resume" is a crystalline swirling reverie, looking back on a hapless CV — Stop & Shop, landscaping, a bookstore — that was short on work experience but long on life experience. And "He Created A Monster" is about, well, Monster.com founder Jeff Taylor. Duh.
Diffident Don Lennon doesn’t play around these parts much. He’s had trouble in the past fitting into the cliquish Boston music scene. (He wrote a song about it on Downtown.) But he’s back in town to perform at ZuZu tonight. [More details]
— Mike Miliard
LISTEN: Don Lennon, "My Resume" (mp3)
LISTEN: to crappier rip of that song and stream stuff at his MySpace page
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
The Strokes
April 25 at Agganis Arena
Photos by Carina Mastrocola
Didn’t love the new stuff -- except for "You Only live Once," which is fucking great, like the Pretenders on cocaine and restraining orders; and "Ask Me Anything," with just the mellotron, which everyone seems to hate but reminds us of Simple Minds and Magnetic Fields -- but didn't mind it either, because they got most of it out of the way right up front. (Their first three songs: "Heart in a Cage," "Red Light," Juicebox.") First Impressions is made for these bigger spaces and lives here more easily and maybe shouldn’t be heard anywhere else. Julian, newly sober -- no one on stage had so much as a cigarette all night -- looked like he’d poached his wardrobe from OTD’s high school closet circa 1987: t-shirt tucked under ill fitting leather jacket, tight, too long wrangler black jeans, between-haircuts mop, puffy high-top Reeboks tied (again) too tight. A gangly hesher yanked fresh from some pressing street hassle and plunked onstage.
As usual, an astute student of metal could discern flashes of Thin Lizzy ("Red Light") and Guns N Roses ("The End Has No End"), guitars that feinted heavy with ominous triads ("Eyes of the World") and Blue Oyster Cultish pentatonics ("Electricityscape") before withdrawing to more anthemic territory. Supersized ’70s LED lights flanked the stage and the drum riser, flashing mixing-board red and Tron blue and traffic-light green and pulsing squadcar blue-red-white. They were as loud as the lights, louder, and they made girls dance like you have no fucking idea. For "Under Control," which after all is said and done is maybe our favorite Strokes song of all, Har Mar Superstar a/k/a Sean Na Na returned from his opening slot for a second-time-ever, mostly-impromptu duet. They ended up together on the floor, trading the line "I dont want to do it your way,” Har Mar singing it a full octave higher, with Julian's crotch in his face. Beautiful.
So yeah, didn't mind the new stuff, because of Julian, and because we're metal kids, which means for us it's about texture and tone, about the grain of the voice, and how when he sings hard the overtone of grit overcomes and conquers the note, like a grindcore singer. And what that texture means to us is big huge insatiable never-ending longing. Fucking suspension-bridge longing. It's Julian singing "Vision of Division," which starts out like the Stooges and ends with him slumped over the monitor bellowing "HOW LONG MUST I WAIT?"
They delivered "Last Night" low and away, a half step slower, because you can’t mean it doubletime every night. How could you? Julian seemed to be searching for something to replace the easy conviction that attends a committed lush, and the searchlights searched for him but did not find him, and at one point he had this to say:
"I’m going to give you a review of 98-point-something. You guys are great."
Collectively: Uh, what?
"I reviewed the crowd. It was kind of a joke."
Then they end the way you want them to end, which is by reminding us why we liked these prep school street urchins in the first place. Albert, that walking cartoon-bubble poof of hair, with that skinny, motion-blurred forearm sticking out, whacking at the guitar, uploading that sudden solo at the end of "Barely Legal" that jumps suddenly out of the song as gaudy and unrestrained as a Mardi Gras hooker. Those generation-frying lyrics "I Just want to misbehave/I just want to be your slave" and the “Miserlou”-quoting licks in the coda and the soap-opera swells --- not Television, just made for TV. The grand, breakfast-cereal-commercial sunrise of "Is This It." "Hard To Explain" with the false ending intact. Julian singing the old songs like a soul singer stuck with a lounge lizard's voice, trying to find new pauses, new syllables, a place to come in sideways. The effect of his presentation has always been calm in the face of chaos. Maybe drugged calm. Maybe stupid calm. Oblivian. He clutches the mike and sings "Take It Or Leave It" with that last-shred-of-dignity howl and stands his ground like someone around whom there is action-movie shit flying. Dead calm.
Roadrunner touting the Dresden Dolls sophmore-slump-dodging Yes Virgina as the "#1 selling new release in the US":
NEW YORK, NY - The Dresden Dolls are on fire. Their sophomore album Yes, Virginia is the #1 selling new release in the U.S. this week as the album debuts at #42 on the Billboard Top 200 Album chart with 19,000 albums sold. It also charted in the Top 10 on the Top Alternative chart, #1 on the CORE Alternative chart and #2 on the Top Internet chart. Yes, Virginia, is the follow-up to the 2004, critically acclaimed self-titled debut, which slowly built from selling 275 copies first week to a total of over 100,000 copies sold in the U.S. alone. The Dresden Dolls just completed a successful run of special appearances in select markets throughout the US, including a much buzzed about show at Stubbs during SXSW in Austin, TX and a performance on Jimmy Kimmel Live. The band will tour North America this summer as the special guests on the Panic! At the Disco Tour.
The Compound 440r collective tsk-tsked OTD at the UV Protection/BIFF party for getting all emo about the Dresden Dolls show. (BTW: Pitchforked at 7.6?!) So, just to show we're not married to them or anything, we dug up not-really-all-that-embarassing photos from Amanda Palmer's sophomore year at Lexington High! Here's the best one:
"You mean she was born with eyebrows?"
Another weird coincidence: did anyone know she went to high school with Eugene Mirman? From the same yearbook: 
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Jamie Lidell
April 24 at Great Scott
Jamie Lidell is in a funny place. So far, his career has been mostly IDM electronica stuff until last year's Multiply, which was a warm pop album highlighting his '60s soul voice. Multiply is an album that your mom and Starbucks and the nerdy dj down the block could love. Lidell stays true to his electronic roots, though: while his Wattstax singing could inspire some couples to copulate, the freaky IDM beats and rhythms would drive all thoughts of love out the door (i.e., you can try if you want, but you can't fuck to it.)
Again, true to his Supercollider/Warp roots, his Monday night show at Great Scott brought out the electronic crowd. (Distinguising characteristics: many people with dreadlocks, patience for bleeps, "other music" t-shirts!) Jamie took to the stage in a trench coat and proceeded to rock the crowd in a sample one-man-band manner reminiscent of Feist. He started with Mutliply's last track, "Game For Fools," where the backing track was simple and his pipes had a wonderful Otis Redding flavor. After the slow-jam treat of that, though, Lidell went into "The City," building the track up organically. First, he'd beatbox and record that onto his equipment, then he'd record rhythmic squeals and screams, and he'd put all those sounds together over a squelching synth line. (OTD jumps in to point out, totally pointlessly, that KT Tunstall is freaking AAA radio listeners out across the pond by doing pretty much the same schtick.) The sounds were immediate and warm and as Lidell sings, he has this spazzy, somewhat childlike charisma. He's wearing thick black glasses, referring to himself as "Mr. Magoo," and showing off his excellent white-guy soul voice. It's always entertaining to see an attractive British dude get so into his singing that he shuts his eyes and goes into a Stevie-Wonder-at-the-keyboards-shrug. Hearing Multiply's tracks stripped down and built up in this fashion brought attention to the album's intricate makeup and the fact that Lidell's music is more convoluted and fascinating beyond the lush draw of his voice.
This show was a great capoff to one of those weekends where you feel like everything is echoing everything else — the night before, I had the pleasure of seeing the film LOL at the Boston Independent Film Festival. LOL is about early twentysomethings and technology, showing up its boys in the cruelest of lights: in love with their computers and unaware of the real live girls in front of them. One character, played by Kevin Bewersdorf (RISD-educated, and you'd pick up on that the moment you see him play his music), was a musician who would make music by putting together videos of his friends making noises with their mouth. The "noisehead" songs linked scenes together, in a neat example of video and technology becoming community. The songs themselves were interesting, if borderline Bobby McFerrin at times. While it was a neat trick for the movie, seeing Lidell using his found-sound -- and wonderfully competent beatboxing -- blew that scene out of the water. Lidell's too bizarre to let something slip into Bobby McFerrin or Otis Redding lite: he may be echoing past heroes but he's not into slavish revivialism. The live show reveals how much of a special weirdo Lidell is, and it's hotter and sexier than on wax. So please, heed my advice and bring your special dude or lady to the Jamie Lidell show when he's opening up for Beck this summer.
-- Elisabeth Donnelly
We found out the same way you did -- from Ryan Walsh's (Hallelujah the Hills, the Stairs) late-breaking MySpace bulletin. (Dude, we know you have a show tonight, but talk about burying the lead.) (In Ryan's defense: after 30 seconds of googling we discovered that the Honeypump Board has known this for two days. More bad news.) Here's the relevant grafs:
Unfortunately I have to end this bulletin with some sad not-funny news. Our dear friend Matt from the band Ho-Ag was attacked by seven people while on tour in Oakland, California 2 days ago. They fractured his jaw and he is currently awaiting surgery in a hospital. I know so many people who care so much about him, many who only know him through his music, and it's uplifting to witness this during this frustrating debacle. You can post get better cards on their profile. I'm sure he'd appreciate that.
I don't understand the thirst people have for violence. If I sat down with one of these attackers would they be able to explain it to me? I don't think they could and here's why: the only way I can start to comprehend senseless violence is by positing that the person committing the violence is an unaware barely sentient being.
Please watch out for you friends, be careful, and don't let the prospect of this type of thing cause you to live your life in fear. In my opinion that's the most effective non-violent way to stand up to these kind of heathens.
I hope Matt makes a full recovery soon. His friendship and artistic output are beacons that myself, and the entire band, look to for inspiration. That's the sort of tangible energy that no fists can bruise and that's what I think people mean when they talk about "the human spirit." Make no mistake: that's what we should spend our whole live trying to cultivate and protect.
In small-world news, Honeypump board has updates, including the ridiculous news that local musician's sister works in same hospital where Parish, the beloved dean of Boston super-nice-guys-who-make-way-fucked-up-music, is awaiting surgery on the broken jaw. We sincerely hope this does not lead to a localized Yay Area backlash, as we just started jumping on the hyphy bandwagon and don't intend to get off it quite yet.
Not to make light of a serious situation, but wouldn't it be almost sort of awesome if Matt somehow ended up here?
1. Every record store clerk's favorite novel, which then became every record geek's favorite movie, is now going to be . . . every record nerd's favorite Broadway musical? Boston gets first look at the $10 million production from the team behind Avenue Q -- are the good old days of the Hub as a tryout town back again for real?
HIGH FIDELITY
World Premiere Pre-Broadway Engagement!
September 26 – October 22, 2006
The Colonial Theatre
The World Premiere of a new musical based on the novel 'High Fidelity'
By Nick Hornby (later a popular film by Touchstone Pictures)
HIGH FIDELITY is a romantic musical comedy that follows the adventures of Rob, a record store owner who knows almost everything about pop music, but almost nothing about how to hang onto a girl. Rob's love life, already a broken record of heartache, falls off the charts completely when he gets dumped by Laura... but that just sets him up for one of the top 5 romantic comebacks ever. With a score by fast-rising songwriters Tom Kitt (music) and Amanda Green (lyrics) and a book by South Boston native David Lindsay-Abaire (Fuddy Meers, Kimberly Akimbo, Rabbit Hole), HIGH FIDELITY is directed by Walter Bobbie, the Tony Award® winning director of Chicago.
2. What? No reality-TV tryouts?
ALICE IN CHAINS REUINTE FOR WORLD TOUR
After making history with a string of rock hits, chart topping albums and legendary live performances, Alice in Chains are back with their first international tour in more than a decade. After kicking off the tour with a series of club shows in the United States, the members of the Seattle rock outfit will cross the Atlantic for a round of shows at some of Europe’s most notable rock festivals. Joining them on the mike for this cross-continental trek will be Comes With the Fall singer William Duvall along with a few other special guests and musical friends honoring the legacy left behind by Alice’s late singer, Layne Staley. The tour will begin on May 18 in Los Angeles and will continue through June and July with more than 30 dates from San Diego to Slovakia. In March 2006 Alice in Chains came together again at the Trump Taj Mahal in Atlantic City for VH1’s Decades Rock Live tribute to fellow Seattleites, Heart. This time they had William Duvall and Phil Anselmo from Pantera and Down sharing lead vocals with Jerry, paving the way for this summer’s tour.
Dates for Alice in Chains' Summer 2006 tour:
May
18 Los Angeles, CA The Roxy
19 San Diego, CA House of Blues
21 Chicago, IL Cabaret Metro
22 Boston, MA Avalon Ballroom
23 New York, NY Bowery Ballroom
3. Kanye tries hyphy on for size: way better than his official MI:3 soundtrack theme, 'Ye co-signs the early frontrunner for song of the year on the remix, now in official-release version, as opposed to the unfinished radio rip that surfaced last month) . . .
DOWNLOAD: E-40 with Kanye West and Ice Cube, "Tell Me When To Go Remix" (mp3)
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Photos (c) Carina Mastrocola
Dresden Dolls
April 21 at the Orpheum
Outside, the Brigade chalked portraits in the alley and smoked sullenly and dutifully gave fake names to the union photographers from the dailies. A girl with enormous breasts turned cartwheels in a strapless dress. Human statues took five and hugged old friends, leaving them stained silver. You know, the usual.
Inside, a costume party. Boys in feather boas and bowlers and body paint, girls in whatever flavor of cleavage-and-thigh-baring treatment they favor: French maid, punk wench, mall whore. On stage, a circus: performance artists, sword swallowers, dadaist fairy-tale tellers throwing toast, a drunk hoola-hooper stripping down to daisy pasties. You know, a spectacle.
You've seen it before, the Dolls have played this room even, only last time it seemed a fluke: a longshot opening slot on the Nine Inch Nails tour, the latest in a long line of Trent coolhunting expeditions. But now here they are again, new album, headlining, the grand ol opry filled to the rafters, and not just that, but filled with that peculiar demographic of artschool freaks, theater-club geeks, and trenchcoat kids with hair dyed Hi-C green, the anarcho-teengoth crowd you thought had all been Hot Topicked into dutiful submission to Warped Tour cretins. To oldheads, watching this Tribe-like hippie-goth band Humanwine on the opening card, it might feel like you'd been time-warped back to the underground that existed before MySpace and MTVu and YouTube and DVD-r: a band that acts as if it just had this one moment, the one onstage, to snag your heart and your contact info and your merch dollar. By the time we hit the send key we won't even believe a word of it anymore, for for a few seconds it feels absolutely true.
The Dresden Dolls were amazing last night, don't let anyone tell you different. Bum notes and false starts, yeah, but this isn't supposed to be American Idol. You went waiting to be won over, expecting you probably would be, making side bets with yourself in case they just tanked. They played for something like two, two and a half hours -- played new songs, played old songs, fucked up a Leonard Cohen song, played the Iron and Wine cover of the Postal Service song, played the one about the Noise board, played the hits, played their punk shit, made drunken admissions of being awed, played at least three-quarters of what they knew. I'm not in a mood to deconstruct. They just killed it. They also brought up the tweens from Rounder's Kidz Bop knockoff Girl Authority, and even that didn't derail the gig. There was a long speech about the finale (also the single), about how "Sing" was a response to a thread on the internet arguing over whether people should be allowed to sing at shows. "I think something terrible happened in the '90s," Amanda said, not even jokiing. No, this is not a new argument, and "Sing" is not the last word, not even a great song until the last 30 seconds, when it turns into one of those perfectly-harmonized singalongs that feels like it should be the roll-credits in The Sound of Music or something, and that's how they played it, with the brigade in their Village-People-meets-Marilyn-Manson-groupie costumes crowding three deep into the balcony wings, this big bright chorus and human statues throwing confetti. It's stupid, but it's also the kind of thing that makes OTD cry like a little bitch. Post it to the Noise Board: Fuck you, I was moved.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Clawjob delivers OTD's promotional fee
You loved Clickers. We loved Clickers. Everyone loved Clickers.
But dude, this is SO MUCH BETTER.
We are talking about Clawjob, the new group featuring ex-Clickers dude Mike Gintz and his pal Nick Burgess of the video-game-coverband Project X (not the jokey hardcore band of the same name). Along with a cast of thousands (including other ex-Clickers as well as members of Night Rally, Keys to the Streets of Fear, Piles, Paper Thin Stages, Harry and the Potters, Badman, and Tristan da Cunha), they have recorded an interstellar rock opera entitled Space Crackers. An instant classic in the mold of Queen's Flash Gordon score, Space Crackers was originally conceived back in 2000 as a fake 1976-era rock opera, but has now became a "real, yet still super absurd rock opera."
"It takes place in the future," explains Gintz via email. "There's a love triangle. There's a catastrophic alien invasion. Also, it's pretty silly."
What he's too modest to mention is that in addition to being really silly it's also really great. There are lines -- "Sat next to her all semester/I did my best to impress her" -- that feel clever enough to be on the radio, even if they reside in songs about flunking out of classes on inert gasses.
Eventually, after the CD is released, the entire opera will be downloadable at the Clawjob website. For now, the first three songs are streaming at their MySpace page, but we have the exclusive downloadable version of the first song, which is reminiscent of pompous pre-'80s glam rock a la Bowie, Rocky Horror, and the Sweet. This first installment, "Welcome to Space School," also helpully introduces us to Space Crackers' main characters: Dr O., the headmaster, a soldier in a war that ended 40 years ago after the world fought off a race of bird people and all nations joined together as one; Julian, our hero, a supergeek who wrote his thesis on the subatomic structure of crackers, and is in search of a grant for further research; Madeline, around whom the love triangle revolves; and Greg, a poor student with looks to match, who pines away his hours wishing he could snark Madeline away from Julian.
DOWNLOAD: Clawjob, "Welcome to Space School" (mp3)
PRE ORDER: Space Crackers via the Clawjob webstore
UPDATE: Clawjob has uploaded three more mpfrees at their website.
DOWNLOAD: Clawjob, "I Got My Space Pass" (mp3)
DOWNLOAD: Clawjob, "Let's Focus on the Research" (mp3)
DOWNLOAD: Clawjob, "Crackers and Chips" (mp3)
The Rumble, Boston's 28th annual rock n roll catfight, never fails to bring out the best and worst of the local music scene. It's sort of like American Idol for poor, ugly people. This year's edition comes to a close tonight. If you're reading this, you probably know a finalist, a judge, or someone who's rooting for one of these bands.
1. Scamper
Pros: Super-slick, radio-ready sound. Early-Weezer power chord crunch. Conventional major-key harmonies. Heart-melting love lyrics.
Cons: Super-slick, radio-ready sound. Early-Weezer power chord crunch. Conventional major-key harmonies. Heart-melting love lyrics.
2. The Rudds
Pros: Expertly-crafted meta-rock tunes. Tasteful Cheap Trick fetishism. Tony Goddess’s subtly amazing bass playing. J-Po and his scarf.
Cons: ’70s cock-rock obsession (not in line with BCN’s 90s cock-rock obsession). The Brett Rosenberg Guitar Solo Face.
3. The Campaign for Real-Time
Pros: Seriously kinetic live show, replete with hip-hop hype-mannishness, Princely sexiness, and sunglasses. Wildly excellent multi-part vocal harmonies. Impossibly well-synched connection between samplers and humans.
Cons: Sorta-funny, wholly unnecessary futuristic gimmick. Glowsticks. Arrogance. (At the end of what was, admittedly, a jaw-dropping semi-finals set, the band's keyboardist left the stage by snottily predicting victory; minutes later, Scamper were declared the winners, and C4RT had to be rescued from defeat by being named the wild-card entry.)
It’s anybody’s battle, especially since the outcome is decided by five fallible human judges, but if we had to make a wager, we’d put our money on the Campaign for Real-Time. But regardless, whenever there’s mad loot at stake, bands come to play, so the show is sure to be a great one. And believe it or not, this year’s guest band, Taylor Hawkins & the Coattail Riders, don’t suck as much as you've already decided Dave Grohl's drummer's band must suck.
-- Will Spitz
Don't know if there's any tix left, but as previously reported, tomorrow night marks the world premiere of Not a Photograph: The Mission of Burma Story (details here). The film was begun by David Kleiler Jr (who played with Peter Prescott's post-Burma band Volcano Suns), but what we forgot to mention last time is that another of the filmmakers is Jeff Iawicki, who shares a practice space with the Burma guys in Black Helicopter (click here for more OTD gushing about Black Helicopter, as well as a new song from their forthcoming Ecstatic Peace/Universal album).
The Burma film, the culmination of several years of filming and editing, is also setting up The Obliterati, the second Burma album to be recorded since their comeback. Described to us as "the heaviest record they've ever made," it's living up to that billing in the songs that are slowly leaking to the internet -- the first five tracks are streaming at the official album page. If you were one of the lucky people who signed up for the $15 10-inch subscription service, you've got these songs on vinyl already, with art by Shepard Fairey (who, by coincidence, is also doing artwork for the Black Helicopter album). If not, well, there's always the internerd. This Clint tune, "2wice," is already being talked about as the best song he's written since "That's When I Reach for My Revolver." We're not gonna go reviewing the whole disc yet, but fuck, there's some really good shit on there. Prescott's "Let Yourself Go" is so punk fucking rock it hurts. (Also being blogged this week: "1001 Pleasant Dreams" and -- song title of the month -- "Donna Sumeria.") Is it too late to be talking about a Burma breakout album?
DOWNLOAD: Mission of Burma, "2wice" (mp3 via Insound)
WATCH: Not a Photograph: The Mission of Burma Story (trailer, quicktime)
Thursday, April 20, 2006
1. Ever since the Boston Globe's longtime "pop critic" Steve Morse -- or, as we like to call him, the Leader of the Hacks -- took the buyout and retired, bringing to a  close one of the least distinguished reigns in all of rock journalism, it has been widely rumored that the Globe was attempting to kill two birds with one stone by using one new hire to replace Morse and fellow-buyout-taker Renee Graham.
Our worst nightmare was that they would make Joan Anderman music editor: she's smart, she's got really great taste, she's an awesome writer (and, of course, she learned from the best, if we do say so ourselves). Another dark horse candidate was Jonathan Perry, who took over Morse's "Rock Notes" column. Also smart, also a pretty good writer, though not with a taste broad enough for what the Globe was looking for: someone who could cover stadium rock and emo and mainstream hip-hop in a single bound. And since that's what they were looking for, we were a little worried they might hire somebody young and talented.
Thank god they hired Sarah Rodman instead.
Rodman confirmed last week that she has taken the Globe job and given notice at the Herald. As the rest of us breathed a sigh of relief, ancient Herald music editor Larry Katz was telling people that he doesn't have the budget to replace her. Christopher Blagg, your life is calling.
While the Rodman hire caught many people by surprise, cynical observers are bound to point out an unsettling strain of logic: the newspaper began a search to replace one of the city's best pop culture columnists (who also happened to be African-American) as well as its worst old-whiteguy rock critics, then hired a black woman who can't write. OTD is not cynical enough to co-sign that train of thought. No one's happier than us to see a woman of color in one of the whitest, male-dominated professions in town. But let's not kid ourselves here: Sarah Rodman is no Renee Graham.
Ironically, it's that fact -- as opposed to her skin color -- that is likely why she got the job. Rodman is a critic very much in the mold of Steve Morse: her writing is so bland as to leave very little impression at all, and to make up for it she's one of the sweetest, kindest, gentlest, nicest human beings on the planet. The legacy that Morse left behind was: don't rock the boat, shake a lot of hands, pick a few adjectives you like and stick with them to the bitter end. Rodman will slip into that role perfectly. And the Globe won't be a threat to anyone but itself for the next 20 years. Thanks, dudes!
2. If it wanted to see what a smart daily newspaper does with its music coverage, the Globe didn't have to look any further than its parent company, the New York Times: over the past decade, the Times has figured out how to have fun with its music coverage -- see ex-Phoenix critic Kelefah Sanneh, who kills it on the regular, as well as chunklets like their much imitated Playlist column -- without sacrificing that gray-lady newspaper-of-record gravity. In the process, they regularly beat the glossies and the weeklies to huge songs and new trends, a | |